


Nothing But Each Other

by PenPatronusAooO



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Arrow - Freeform, Barry Allen & Oliver Queen Friendship, Barry Allen - Freeform, Bromance, Caretaking, Crossover, Dehydration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, Epic Friendship, Established Barry Allen/Iris West, Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Flash - Freeform, Friendship, Hurt, Hurt Barry Allen, Hurt Oliver, Hurt Oliver Queen, Hurt/Comfort, Oliver Queen - Freeform, Protective Barry Allen, Protective Oliver Queen, The Flash - Freeform, Torture, Whump, arrowverse, crossover the flash/Arrow, ollie queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22747342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenPatronusAooO/pseuds/PenPatronusAooO
Summary: Barry and Oliver get captured and tortured. One endures broken bones, the other gets stabbed. One gets bled nearly to death, the other gets beat up. What do the bad guys want with them? How will they survive? WHUMP, FRIENDSHIP, CARETAKING, HURT/COMFORT
Relationships: Barry Allen & Oliver Queen, Barry Allen/Iris West, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 25
Kudos: 175





	1. The Thousand Yard Stare

Oliver woke up alone, face down in an iron-barred prison cell. The air smelled stale with a hint of wet metal. It left an iron taste in the back of his dry throat. The only sounds were his own breathing and a faint distant rumble of a massive but far away machine somewhere beyond the long dark hallway the cell faced. The floor below his naked cheek was pockmarked cold cement wrinkled with fractures. A single strobing lightbulb swayed above him. His uniform was missing, replaced by navy sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. There were no marks, no bruises—at least not any new ones. He was barefoot, goose bumped, and alone.

Oliver rolled over, twisted his knees beneath him and hopped up without touching his fingertips to the floor. His stomach growled, his limbs felt stiff, he was thirsty, his bladder was full, and his facial hair was slightly longer… He’d been unconscious for at least a day, he estimated. The last thing he remembered was walking to a bar with…

Oliver banged his fists against the bars and shouted, “ _Barry?_ ” His gruff, gravelly voice echoed down the unlit, empty hallway. “ ** _Barry!_** ” Nothing answered. Oliver cursed, then busied himself combing every inch of the cell looking for a way out or something he could use as a weapon. All he found was dust and grime. The walls were tall and perfectly smooth. He couldn’t climb them even if there was something to climb up to. Pushing and pulling on the iron bars did nothing but wear him out.

A scream. Male. A scream of pain, Oliver deduced. It came from the other end of the black hall. Minutes later there was the sound of a door opening and every lightbulb in the hall flashed on. Oliver counted six pairs of boots marching towards him a whole quarter minute before he actually saw the black-uniformed men. Two dragged a limp, face down body between them. The man’s gray shirt was splattered with blood, his navy sweatpants were ripped, and there was a black device around each bare ankle.

The lead soldier unlocked the cell door, then hesitated and ordered Oliver to step away. Oliver stood his ground in the center of the cell. The soldier took out his sidearm and pointed it at Oliver’s chest and, still, Oliver wouldn’t move. He did move, then, immediately when the soldier put the gun to the unconscious man’s head. Oliver raised his hands in surrender and backpedaled until his back hit the far wall. And then he dove forward—dove forward because the soldiers tossed the unconscious man into the cell like he was nothing more than a bag of garbage. Oliver caught him under the armpits and the man’s forehead bounced off his shoulder. The archer fell with the man’s momentum but slowed it, gradually, and landed with the man’s back on the inside of his left leg. Oliver held the man against his chest for a moment, and then settled him snugly down into his lap with his left arm beneath his shoulders and neck.

Startled, Oliver inhaled sharply when he discovered open blue eyes. He wasn’t unconscious after all. “ _Barry_?”

Barry Allen closed and re-opened his eyes in a slow blink. He didn’t make eye contact with Oliver, only stared up at the ceiling, straight past him, like he wasn’t there. His bruised lips were slightly parted, and blood dripped from a cut half an inch from his right eye. His breaths were consistent but very shallow. He didn’t move in Oliver’s arms. Not even a twitch. A red light on the devices around his ankles blinked.

Oliver shook him. “Barry. Barry!” he barked. Barry blinked again. He still stared at nothing. His eyebrows were creased mid-frown. Oliver snapped his fingers in front of Barry’s eyes and shouted his name louder. “Barry, look at me! _Look at me_!”

The proverbial lightbulb went off in Oliver’s head. He suddenly remembered that he knew that stare. He’d seen it on dozens of faces… Including his own. Nausea crept into Oliver’s throat. He swallowed the heat of it, ordered the tears to stay away, and changed his tactics. Gently, he took Barry’s limp left hand in his right and interlocked their fingers. He adjusted Barry’s head so that his chin was against Oliver’s chest with their eyes staring straight at each other. With his left hand he massaged Barry’s shoulder.

And then he whispered, in a big brother’s voice, “Bare… It’s me.”

Barry blinked again. His face remained expressionless.

Oliver kept massaging Barry’s shoulder and squeezing his hand. “It’s Oliver.” Oliver counted to ten before he spoke again. “I’m here.” Barry’s pupils dilated slightly. “I’m here.” Barry blinked quicker—blinked normally. Something like a spark reawakened in Barry’s eyes. His face remained expressionless, but some light returned to his eyes. “I’ve got you.”

Barry didn’t make a sound, but his chapped lips formed the name, “Oliver.” He squeezed his friend’s fingers.

Oliver summoned a sincere smile. He nodded. Barry nodded back at him. The speedster swallowed twice, then licked his lips. He squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, then opened them as wide as he could. Meanwhile, he stretched his back, arms, and legs long and wide, and Oliver heard his joints creak and crack. Minutes passed before he tried to speak again and, this time, he succeeded.

“Ollie…” Barry whispered, “it hurts…”

Oliver’s chin briefly trembled. “What did they use on you?”

Barry frowned. The thousand-yard stare started to return but it retreated when Oliver gave him a little shake. “Fists. T-taser. Knives. F-fire. And…” Oliver looked down at the black devices around his ankles. “Those.”

“What are they?”

“They emit soundwaves that break…” Barry swallowed hard and then looked up into Oliver’s eyes. “My ankles are broken… And those things are scheduled to automatically break them again in an hour.”

**To Be Continued**


	2. Desperate Measures

Barry sat up against the wall with his left hand tight around an iron bar. “Lean forward. Let me see,” said Oliver, quietly. Barry obeyed, and Oliver lifted the back of his t-shirt. He exhaled hard and hot at the sight of so many cuts, bruises, and burns. He added the number to the running count of injuries done to Barry’s body, intending to repay their captors with just as many wounds if not twice. He especially intended to shatter each and every one of their ankles right before he killed them.

“What do they want?” Oliver moved down to Barry’s ankles and examined the cuffs. There was a digital countdown clock beside each blinking light.

“Don’t know.”

Oliver found a seam and tried to slide a fingernail into it. “What did they ask you?”

Barry winced when Oliver rotated the device, digging it into Barry’s swollen skin. “They didn’t ask me anything.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean they didn’t ask you anything?”

“I mean they didn’t even say anything. Not a single word. They hooked me up to some sort of machinery and…” Barry sighed, shrugged. “Then they tortured me.”

Oliver looked up into his friend’s eyes. “I’m going to try to squeeze my fingers into the space between this thing and your ankle and see if I can pull it apart, ok?”

Eyes wide, Barry said, “Oh, that’s going to hurt.”

“It’s going to hurt bad,” Oliver confirmed. “Try not to kick me.”

“No promises.” Barry held onto the iron bars and closed his eyes. “Do it!”

Oliver dug both of his middle fingers and both of his forefingers into the space and pulled with everything he had. Barry screamed and spasmed and kept whimpering long after Oliver stopped. The cuff was magnetically sealed. There was no removing it.

“Hey, shh, ok, I’m done,” Oliver soothed as he crawled back up and put his hand on his friend’s chest. “Not going to try that again.”

“I have an idea,” Barry said between his clenched teeth. “I’m going to try to short-circuit it. Back up. No, don’t touch me. Further away.” Barry folded his left leg until the heel settled against the inside of his right thigh. Then, he clapped twice, and started to rub his hands together so fast that Oliver could barely see the blur. Electricity built up—hot, sparking, brilliant—and when the lightning erupted, Oliver had to cover his eyes with his arm. Barry’s scream vibrated Oliver’s eardrums so hard that he heard the drumbeats.

When the heat and light retreated, Oliver looked up to see Barry lying on his side, back to his friend. The bottom of his left pantleg was on fire. “ ** _Barry_**!” Oliver tore off his shirt, sprinted over to him and patted the fire out with the fabric. The device around the speedster’s broken ankle was warm, but unblemished. The light still blinked. The countdown was still counting down. It didn’t work.

Oliver rolled Barry onto his back. He was unconscious, but woke up after Oliver yelled. “Oh, man,” Barry sighed. “I’m out. No more ideas. They hurt too much.”

Oliver granted him a rare smile. Pushing and pulling, he helped Barry sit up again with his back to the wall. Barry teetered, then slid to the right, so Oliver sat beside him and let the younger man lean against his shoulder. “Tell me about the machine they hooked you up to.”

“How much time do I have?”

“Bare, maybe it’s better if you don’t know.”

“Tell me.”

Oliver didn’t have to look at the device again because he already had, for the seventh time that minute. “2 minutes.”

Barry sighed. “They strapped me to a table with a hole in it the size of my back, then rotated it up so that I was almost standing. I was under this arch thing. It was iron on the outside—just a big iron arc. They put electrodes all over my skull.”

“How many men?”

“Six guards. Two women were running the show. Tall, older blonde and a shorter, younger blonde. The guards did all of the… stuff.”

“How big was the room?”

“I… I’m not sure. Smaller than the Cortex.”

“How many other rooms did you see? How many doors?”

“I don’t know. A bunch.”

“Did you see a window? Could you see outside?”

“Ollie I—no—no window. It was really dark and I… Sorry, I was distracted.” Oliver managed to hide the frustration on his face, but Barry saw the tendons in his neck pulsing. “Sorry…”

“Next training session, we’ll work on this. On being aware of your surroundings and taking note of your environment even when you’re in pain.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Terrific.”

Oliver looked down at the floor. “60 seconds.”

Barry exhaled deeply. Tripping over his words and his tongue he said, awkwardly, “Will you—if it’s not too much trouble could—it might help if…”

Oliver nodded. “Whatever you need. How can I help?”

“Maybe, could you… Just—I just need something to hang on to. Just hold me, will you?”

Oliver didn’t hesitate. He gathered his friend up in his arms and held him tight. Barry wrapped his own arms around Oliver’s upper body. He buried his face into the space between Oliver’s neck and shoulder and closed his eyes. His entire body trembled. “It’ll be over soon…” he whispered.

“It’ll be over soon,” Oliver confirmed.

“Sorry if I scream in your ear.”

When the devices shattered Barry’s almost-healed ankles, he did scream. His entire body spasmed like he was enduring a seizure. He held onto Oliver as if for dear life, and Oliver hugged him back. When the pain died down to a fierce ache instead of a stab, Barry suddenly went limp and would’ve banged his head on the ground if Oliver didn’t have such a tight hold on him.

Not 30 seconds later, the guards came for Oliver.

**To Be Continued**


	3. Barely

Barry wrapped his arms around the iron bars, clenched his eyes shut, and held his breath. The cuffs broke his ankles for the sixth time, right on schedule, and his screams reverberated down the hallway. Sweating, gasping, trembling, Barry collapsed to the cell floor, landing on his back. The agony was exhausting. Each time he healed slower and slower, which meant that the pain he experienced between the breaks lasted longer. His stomach growled. It had been a day and a half since he’d eaten or had any water, and he was almost out of energy. He couldn’t shake the bars apart, claw through the wall, phase, or stand, let alone run.

A scream suddenly echoed down the hallway. Oliver’s scream. Barry winced and put his palms over his ears. Hearing his friend in pain was just as bad as his physical pain. All he could do was lie there, alone, staring up at the strobing lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

  
The light. The way it was flashing. The rhythm of it. The pattern. The pattern.

  
B-A-R-R-Y the light blinked at him in Morse Code. B-A-R-R-Y.

  
Relief flooded Barry’s senses, making him feel like he was lying in freezing water. “I’m here,” he whispered to the lightbulb. “I’m here.” The bulb must have been a concealed camera and microphone his friends had hacked, because now it was flashing the letter F over and over. “Hi, Felicity.”

  
O-L-I-V-E-R… A-L-I-V-E…?

  
Tears stung Barry’s eyes. “Yeah, but he’s in trouble,” he whispered. The bulb went dark for a moment, as if in mourning, then started flashing once more. C-O-M-I-N-G… F-O-R… Y-O-U.

  
Barry smiled slightly. “Bring a sandwich.”

  
H-A-N-G… O-N.

  
“Hurry,” Barry whispered. “Hurry.”

  
When Barry heard the guards’ footsteps, he crawled to the bars and did a pull up, raising his chin high. From there he could see that they were carrying a body. Knowing they’d make him do it anyway, Barry crawled to the back of the cell and raised his hands in surrender. The guards unlocked the door and dumped the body inside. They left without a single word.

  
“OLIVER!” Barry crawled to his friend as quick as his weak arms would take him. He found Ollie conscious, but unmoving. He wore his half-burned gray t-shirt and still-wet blood covered the bottom left side of it. His navy sweatpants were intact. Barry found a taped piece of gauze on the inside of Oliver’s left arm. He gently pulled the gauze aside and found a wide needle mark. “They drugged you,” he said mostly to himself.

  
Oliver blinked lazily. “Not this time,” he whispered slowly, elongating each syllable. “Just drained me… Drained my blood. Went into hypovolemic shock twice.”

  
Barry gently pulled up Oliver’s shirt and revealed two knife wounds. Oliver had been stabbed, then the knife had been dragged down his skin, then he was stabbed again. “Oh, no.” Because the needle wound was already clotted, Barry took that and placed it over the wound. Oliver bled through the gauze almost instantly.

  
Oliver propped up one eyebrow and sighed. “I’ve had worse.”

  
“That doesn’t make this hurt less,” Barry theorized. The speedster quickly took off his bloody t-shirt, rolled it up into a bandage, and pressed it against Oliver’s wound. His concern mounted when Oliver didn’t even flinch from the pressure. “Did they put you under that iron arch?” Barry asked. Oliver nodded. “What did they say to you? Anything?” Oliver shook his head. “What the hell is going on? What’s the point of torturing us if not for information?”

  
Oliver’s eyes rolled back into his head, but he started himself awake before he could pass out. “Have a theory,” he said. “Those women… Barry, didn’t you notice?”

  
Barry frowned. “Notice what?”

  
Oliver stared off into space for a long moment. He brought himself back to the present a second before Barry called his name. “Same person…” he whispered. “They’re the same person… The younger one is an exact copy of the older one.”

  
Barry’s jaw dropped. “Cloning,” he realized. “That’s what they’re trying to do to us. That arch thing… It was scanning us.”

  
Oliver shut his eyes. “Mmm,” he grunted.

  
“They took blood from both of us. Got our DNA… They scanned our brainwaves.” Barry shook his head. “Can they duplicate my powers? But, why the torture. I don’t get it! Why torture us?”

  
Oliver’s eyes remained closed. “Fun,” he said, barely loud enough for Barry to hear. “Some people do that… For fun.”

  
Barry’s makeshift bandage was holding its own, but some streams of blood were still seeping through. “Dammit. Oliver, can you hold this against the wound? Just for a minute.” Oliver grunted, and Barry took that as a yes. A minute went by before Oliver got up the strength, but then he did as he was told. While Oliver held the shirt, Barry gently ripped what was left of Oliver’s shirt off his body and added it to the bandage. “Sit up for me. Just for a second,” requested Barry. “Let me get the rest of it. Need all the help you can get.

  
Oliver groaned. “Roll over,” he sighed, and he did, just long enough for Barry to grab the extra fabric. Oliver’s hand let go of the bandage and slid to the floor. Barry grabbed the shirts before they fell. When he looked up, he saw that Oliver’s eyes were closed.

  
“Oliver?” Barry shook his friend’s shoulders. “Oliver, maybe you should stay awake.”

  
“Tired…”

  
“I know. I know, but listen. Look up. Oliver, look up!”

  
Oliver opened his eyes and looked where Barry was pointing. “That is a lovely lightbulb, Barry.”

  
“Morse code. Look for the Morse code, Oliver.”

  
Oliver obeyed. Gradually a smile broke through his strained features. “Love you,” he told Felicity. “Love you, too.” Then he twisted his head to the right and looked into Barry’s eyes. “Sorry,” he croaked. “I tried…”

  
“Stay awake.” Barry shook him again. “Oliver—Ollie! Stay awake!”

  
Oliver couldn’t. He passed out. Barry put his forehead on his friend’s chest and let the tears fall.

  
**To Be Continued**


	4. Downswing

Barry sobbed against Oliver’s bare chest with the grace and dignity of a newborn baby, very aware that he was wasting valuable water. A deep fatigue settled over him. His head hurt and his joints felt stiff. He hugged his friend tight, keeping pressure on the knife wounds. After the tears dried he stayed where he was—holding the bandages while also staring up at the silent, un-blinking lightbulb. He was so distracted for so long that he didn’t realize another hour had passed until the ankle cuffs broke his bones once again. Barry screamed into the inside of his elbow, trying desperately to keep his voice down so that Oliver could sleep, recover. Ollie woke up swinging, barely missing punching Barry in the nose. Barry caught him by the shoulders. The two men, sitting side by side, facing each other, grasped for each other’s hands before leaning back on their palms, trying to catch their breaths. Their shirts tumbled to the floor in a heap. Oliver’s knife wounds had clotted. 

“Sorry,” Barry gasped. “I didn’t mean—I tried to—” 

Oliver winced and checked his wounds. “I know,” he said softly. “I know.” He looked Barry up and down. “You all right? You look paler.” 

Barry rubbed his calves. He said nothing, just shook his head without making eye contact. 

Oliver rubbed his sore, empty stomach. His throat was dead dry, and his head hurt. He looked up at the lightbulb and saw that it was glowing without interruption. Felicity wasn’t with them. 

“Want you to know something,” Barry suddenly spouted. He sighed, took a deep breath, and said again, softer, “I want to tell you something, Oliver.” 

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Barry, unless it’s a plan to get us out of here, whatever you have to say can probably wait for another time.” 

Barry pursed his lips together, counted to ten, then spoke. “Oliver, my metabolism works as fast as my legs. That’s why I have to eat and drink frequently. That also means that my body’s going to do something else very, very quickly.” 

Oliver frowned. The half-moons under his eyes were as dark as the cement floor. “What?” 

“Dehydrate.” Barry shrugged. “Starve. A normal man can go three days without drinking water. We haven’t had any in almost two. I don’t know how much longer I can last. I feel sluggish. Everything hurts. I’m dizzy…My organs will eventually shut down.” Barry hesitated, then stated again, “And that’s why I want you to know something. And I…” Barry suddenly stared down at the floor and his shoulders swayed back and forth. “I think maybe I should sit down while we… While we t-talk…” 

Oliver grasped Barry’s wrist. “Bare, you are sitting down.” 

Tears suddenly hovered in Barry’s sad eyes. “Thank you, Ollie,” he croaked. “For everything. For mentoring me, for helping me, for being my friend… I can’t imagine where I’d be right now if I’d never met you. Dead, probably.” Barry chuckled a bit chaotically for a moment, then settled down again. “You are the most honorable, brave, talented man I’ve ever known and other than Iris’ heart, I want nothing more than to be like you. You’re a superhero.” 

“Barry…” Oliver shook his head and averted his eyes. “You don’t have to—Barry?” 

Barry had gone still. He was staring but inwardly, not out into the void. Slowly, he raised his hand and massaged his dry forehead. “Buzzing,” he muttered. 

“What?” Oliver grasped his friend’s wrist again. “Barry, talk to me!” 

“Oh, no…” Barry looked at Oliver as if for the last time. “I’m sorry,” he hiccupped. “I’m s—”

The seizure knocked Barry onto his back. It lasted a whole 90 seconds—Oliver counted. He backed away, hands up, giving his friend space but keeping an eye on the walls to keep Barry from crashing into them. It was horrific. Every muscle in Barry’s body shook and contracted and spasmed. His eyes rolled back into his head. His back arched and he bounced so high that at times he looked like he was floating above the floor. The seizure stopped as quickly as it started. Oliver rushed back to his friend and cupped his cheeks. 

“Barry? Barry!” Oliver patted his friend’s cheeks, then smacked them. “Wake up. Barry—wake up!” 

Unresponsive. Oliver put his forefinger against Barry’s pulse point and found his heart beating. That was the only good news. Oliver wondered if Barry would ever wake up again… 

“Dammit!” Oliver bellowed. He sat beside Barry with his hands in his lap and his face pointing down. He’d expended his own small well of energy in just a few minutes. His body was fatigued and achy. He was nauseated and cold. He’d lost too much blood and his body hadn’t had time to recover yet. He checked his own pulse and found it fast and shallow. Worry over Barry had skyrocketed his adrenaline, and now his body was coming down from the high. 

“Oh,” said Oliver, having an out loud revelation, “gonna p-pass out, too…” He looked up at the lightbulb. Still no blinking. He was alone. 

Eyes blurring, temperature rising, stomach aching, Oliver slowly lowered himself so that he lay side-by-side with Barry. He grasped his friend’s wrist and clung onto the beat of his heart like a child who needed the comfort of a teddy bear. “Sorry, Barry…” he whispered. “Guess I’m no superhero today…” 

To Be Continued


	5. Never Give Up

Dr. Elizabeth Sheets picked up the electron microscope and threw it across the room to the opposite wall. Young Liz, also clothed in a white doctor’s coat and sporting pale blonde hair, approached her elder twin and asked what was wrong. “We can’t clone The Flash,” Elizabeth yelled, tossing her hands up into the air. “His cells… I can’t understand them, let alone replicate them! They’re…”

“Supernatural.” Young Liz cocked her head to the side. “We knew this was likely.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You know me… I get my hopes up.”

Young Liz disappeared for a minute, then reappeared with another microscope. After adding blood to a slide and placing it under the scope, she examined it, then stepped aside, inviting Elizabeth to look. Dr. Sheets’ joints creaked when she leaned over. Her blonde hair was gray in some places, and the laugh lines on her cheeks were starting to transform into wrinkles. Young Liz was half her age, and just as brilliant. She was the one success in a succession of failures, and Dr. Sheets had only recently figured out why. Now she just needed to prove to The Benefactor that she could clone anyone, without incident. She’d hoped to clone a Meta-human, but the next best thing was a man with the strength, stamina, and skill of Oliver Queen. Her benefactor would love a whole army of Green Arrows.

“Queen’s cells. They look promising,“ Young Liz reported. “They’re sticking to the stem cell micro-adhesives.”

Dr. Sheets looked through the microscope to confirm. “The stem cells should accept them… If the growth cells do the same, we’ll have a fully grown clone by the end of the year.” Dr. Sheets stood up tall and grinned.

Young Liz raised her eyebrows. “And what about the prisoners?”

Dr. Sheets snorted. “We officially don’t need them anymore, do we?” She turned to the six guards standing watch on the outskirts of the laboratory. “Kill them.”

Young, the eldest of the guards, motioned for two of his five comrades to join him. They followed him out of the lab and down the hall. The two prisoners lay on their backs in the cell, both unconscious if not dead. Young gestured for the others to stay behind, unlocked the cell door, and drew his firearm. “Kinda wish you were awake for this,” he told Allen and Queen. “That would make it more fun.” Young aimed his weapon at Barry’s head. “Nowhere to run now…”

Oliver Queen sprung up from the floor. In less than three seconds he broke Young’s neck, grabbed his gun, and shot bullets through the other two guards’ heads. Three seconds after that the gun fell out of a limp hand, and Oliver, who was breathing heavily, collapsed onto his knees. “No, get up,” he whispered to himself. “Come on, Queen, get up.” He looked down at Barry, sleeping so innocently, heart still beating, but face so pale. “Get up!” Oliver growled at himself. He picked up the gun, and took the weapons off the other dead guards. He left one gun at Barry’s side and pocketed the other one. Before Oliver left the cell, he looked down at the cuffs around Barry’s ankles. He had ten minutes.

Oliver booked it down the hallway. He stopped outside the door to the lab, took a moment to catch his breath, then called, “Hey! We need some help out here!”

That lured the first guard out. Oliver put two bullets in him, then slid on his knees into the room, masterfully gliding under the bullets immediately shot by the remaining two guards. Guard number 2 endured a punch in the stomach. Guard number 3 aimed his gun, but Oliver twisted behind number 2 and used him as a shield. The body dropped. Oliver rolled out from under it, dodging two more shots as he went. He stuck his leg out and tripped the guard up. The two rolled, wrestling, both losing their guns in the tussle. Oliver took a punch to the mouth, then one to the eye, then a third one to the nose. He got his own kicks in, but the guard got the upper hand. He put his hands around Oliver’s windpipe.

“You son of a bitch!” the guard spat down at him. He squeezed. Oliver, who didn’t get a big breath in before the guard started to choke him, was out of oxygen fast. The corners of his eyesight went blurry, then dark.

A gunshot. The guard’s eyes widened, then rolled back into his head. He collapsed on top of Oliver, who kicked him aside. Oliver looked to his right to see that Barry had woken and crawled, dragging his broken ankles, all the way down the hall. The gun trembled in his hand. Sweat dripped down his pale white face and he was breathing so heavily that Oliver half-expected him to pass out right then and there. Oliver took the guard’s gun and pointed it at the two shocked blonde woman beside a lab table twenty feet in front of him.

“Don’t move!” Oliver bellowed. He sat up, and held the gun with both hands to keep it from shaking and missing its mark. Without taking his eyes off the scientists he said, “Barry, come here.” Barry sighed. Oliver risked a glance. His friend was lying limp on the ground, staring back with puppy-dog eyes. “Barry, crawl over here, now.”

“Oliver, I…” Barry swallowed and sniffed. “Ollie, I think that’s all I’ve got in me…”

A fatigue unlike any Oliver had ever known blossomed in his bones. He was breathing again, but the corners of his vision were still dark. It took everything he had to keep pointing the gun. “Barry,” he growled, “I need you to come here. _Now_.” Returning his attention to the scientists, he said, “How do I get those cuffs off him?”

Dr. Sheets was red-faced. “I’m going to put one around your neck,” she said.

Young Liz cowered a little bit behind her elder. She opened a drawer and took out what looked like a melon-baller. “Don’t hurt us,” she begged. And she rolled the device over to Oliver.

“Traitor,” Sheets growled at her twin. “Coward.”

“It’s over,” Young Liz snarled back.

“Barry,” Oliver called. “ _Barry_.”

Barry Allen took three deep breaths, then folded his elbows beneath his chest. Gradually, gracelessly, grunting with every movement and barely containing tears of pain, he managed to crawl to Oliver’s side. Oliver held the melon-baller against the cuffs. Both heard a click as the magnets released, and the devices dropped to the floor. Barry put his face against the inside of his elbow and sighed with relief.

Tension released in Oliver’s chest, just for a few precious moments. “Now,” he said, glaring at the two women, “You’re going to show us how to get out of here.”

**To Be Continued**


	6. It Gets Better

“Stay where you are,” Oliver ordered the women. He put his right hand on Barry’s shoulder and rubbed it once. “Time for a piggyback ride, buddy.” Barry groaned. He managed, though, to crawl behind Oliver, climb up to his knees, and put his arms around his friend’s neck. “Put your legs around my waist when I stand up, ok?” Barry made an “M” sound in agreement. “Up in 1… 2… 3!” Keeping the gun still pointed straight, Oliver miraculously rose to his feet with Barry clinging to his back, growling loudly as he stood. Barry yelped when he interlocked his ankles around Oliver’s bellybutton. Oliver did his best to wrap his one free arm under Barry’s calves and take some of the extra weight.

“Go,” Oliver said, gesturing with the gun for the women to enter the hallway. He followed after.

“Oliver…” Barry shifted. “Oliver, I don’t… You’re teetering, man.”

“I’m fine,” Oliver hissed.

“Give me the gun. I can handle it. Give me the gun.”

Oliver hesitated, then handed the weapon over so that he could put both of his arms under both of Barry’s knees, and distribute his weight evenly as he moved. Barry set his chin on Ollie’s shoulder and aimed at the backs of the women’s legs. The two women were whispering to each other and Oliver barked at them to shut up. They turned left at the beginning of the hall, outside of the cell, and continued down an even darker hall. A single light glowed at the far end and Oliver and Barry recognized it as an elevator when they approached. “We’re 50 floors down,” Young Liz said. “This building is adjacent to an old Gotham missile silo.”

“Fascinating,” Oliver growled. “Open the elevator.”

Young Liz obeyed. All four of them entered the crummy, beat up elevator that squeaked as it ascended.

“This isn’t over, you know,” Dr. Sheets said as they neared the top. “We’re not the only ones after you. And our Benefactor will see to it that we’re not in jail for long at all.”

Normally, either Oliver or Barry would have a smart comeback for that, but both men were just concentrating on staying conscious.

Oliver suddenly swayed on his feet. He fell backwards, slamming Barry into the wall with his full weight. The pair slid to the ground, and the gun was knocked out of Barry’s hand. Dr. Sheets picked it up. She pointed it.

“Now, this is a happy ending,” Dr. Sheets said.

“Sorry, Barry,” Oliver mumbled, barely conscious.

Barry squeezed his friend from behind. “Sorry, Oliver.”

Dr. Sheets cocked the gun.

Young Liz suddenly rammed into her clone from the side. The gun dropped again and rattled across the floor where it came to a stop in the far corner. “This is over!” Young Liz shouted with her hands around Dr. Sheets’ neck. “We’re not doing this!”

Dr. Sheets pushed back. “You crazy bitch! All that work, and you just want to give up?”

The elevator reached the top floor.

Dr. Sheets got the upper hand. She tripped up Young Liz, who fell to the floor. Again, the gun ended up in Sheets’ hands. She aimed at Oliver and Barry.

The doors opened.

And there, staring back at them with shocked faces, holding guns and wearing stolen Gotham police and SWAT uniforms, stood Digg, Thea, Roy, Joe West, and Cisco. “Um…” Cisco stuttered, “We’re here to rescue you…?”

Oliver stood and stumbled out of the elevator. “Take him,” he begged. “Digg, take him before I…”

Barely a second after Digg and Joe lifted Barry off Oliver’s back, Oliver collapsed forward to his knees, and onward to his side. The last thing he heard was his sister calling his name.

\---------

He woke up, and Felicity was there. He grinned at her. Wide. Before he could get a word out she swooped in and kissed his smiling teeth.

Oliver was in S.T.A.R. Labs. The lights were dim. A half-dozen machines surrounded his bed. Lights blinked and buttons beeped. “Is he ok?” Oliver croaked with a voice that hadn’t been used in days. “Barry?”

Felicity sat on the side of the bed at Oliver’s hip and took his left hand in both of hers. “He’s all right,” she said, sad, but smiling with pale lips. “It took a while…”

Oliver looked at her. He blinked tired eyes. “He’s all right,” he confirmed.

Felicity nodded. “Touch-and-go. That’s the, um, the word, right? His kidneys shut down. Dehydration, Caitlin said. And his ankles took a couple days to heal. And you—we got you blood. Just in time. Did you know you and Cisco have the same type?”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “I have Cisco’s blood in me? Great.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled at the end of the roll.

Felicity caressed his cheek. “You’re going to have a couple more scars,” she said. “But you’ll be ok.” She ducked her face, lowering her eyes. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to you sooner. We retraced your steps, caught you on cameras, found you in that cell, then—that building, it had extra security because it was connected to the missile silo. It took us forever to break through the doors—”

“Hey,” Oliver soothed, “we’re ok. We escaped. That’s what matters, right?”

Felicity sniffed. “You’re all that matters to me,” she said, looking down at their clasped hands. “All that matters.”

Oliver brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Can I see him?”

“I’m here,” said a voice behind Felicity. She stood and stepped aside to reveal Barry, who wore the same clothes as Oliver: sweatpants and a S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt. He nodded at Felicity as she stepped aside to leave the two men alone. Barry picked up a pitcher off a nearby table and poured water into a short plastic cup. “First thing I wanted when I woke up was a glass of water.”

Oliver suddenly realized that he was wildly thirsty. The two didn’t speak again until he drank four cups. Oliver sighed and leaned back into his pillows. “You’re walking,” he observed.

Barry chuckled and sat on the side of the bed. “I’m running,” he corrected. “All healed up. And Caitlin says you can go home tomorrow.”

“Good. What happened to those scientists?”

“Gotham police have them. All their research was confiscated, all their samples were destroyed. You’ll be the only Oliver Queen as far as we know.” “You did great,” Oliver told him. “When we were down there.” Oliver waited a moment, then said, “Proud of you.”

Barry snorted. He looked at the wall beyond Oliver’s head. He rubbed both of his arms, then hugged his stomach, then reached down and rubbed his ankles. “I feel different,” he whispered. “I feel…” He shook his head, then concluded, “ _Different_.”

“I know,” said Oliver. “I know why.”

“How can you know when I don’t?” Barry whispered.

“Barry, something horrific happened to you down there. You were _tortured_. You endured something no man ever should.”

“It did hurt a lot…”

“I’m not talking about the pain,” said Oliver.

Barry frowned. “What, the worst part of torture _isn’t_ the pain?”

“In the moment it is, of course. But afterwards…” Oliver shook his head. “You were in the presence of something evil. You witnessed a human soul doing something horrific. When you look into the face of pure evil… That changes you. Not the pain. The evil.”

Barry nodded his head, then shook his head. “Feels like something was stolen from me… It’s innocence, isn’t it?” Oliver nodded. “Innocence.” Barry looked down at his folded hands and sighed. “It gets better?”

“It gets better.”

“Thank you,” said Barry. “For taking care of me down there.”

“We took care of each other,” Oliver said.

“And hopefully we’ll never have to again.”

“Never again,” Oliver agreed. He watched his friend for a minute. “You’re about to ask me for a hug again, aren’t you?”

Barry made a face. “Maybe.”

“Come here.” To Barry’s surprise, Oliver sat up, leaned forward, and wrapped his arms around him. Barry relaxed into his friend’s arms and squeezed back.

“Let’s never do that again,” Oliver said when they parted.

“Are hugs really that bad?”

“I mean getting kidnapped, tortured, and experimented on,” Oliver clarified.

“Never again.”

“No. Never again…”

**The End**

(Anyone want a sequel?)


End file.
